


I Could Use A Love Song

by princessitsy



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Angst, Nothing but angst, You Have Been Warned, angst with no resolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessitsy/pseuds/princessitsy
Summary: Sometimes things are too broken to be put back together.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Kudos: 10





	I Could Use A Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> This a combo of three lilacmermaid prompts, one of which is the March three things challenge (a few days late, and probably a dollar short). My three things were: asparagus, a motel room, and a bad coping strategy. Nicely that inspired me to write a fic I’ve been wanting to write forever, which is a response to combining these two prompts: 
> 
> “Elizabeth never cheated, but Henry has always assumed that something did happen between her and Conrad back then. He forgave her long ago - he just never wanted to know. 
> 
> After the ultimatum, Elizabeth can’t bear to tell Isabelle or Juliet, so she ends up spending the night at Conrad’s. “
> 
> I saw the potential for this in the way Henry reacted to the allegations in 5x19, that scene at the kitchen table where he’s basically asking her if she had an affair made me think this was a possibility. 
> 
> Dalton’s political timeline is fuzzy (whose isn’t on this show), so I just kind of stayed purposefully vague about it. 
> 
> Apparently I’m on an infidelity and jealousy kick. It feels like I just keep writing the same thing over and over again. It doesn’t help that I’ve written and rewritten so much of this it seems like it’s a complete mess.
> 
> This is probably the dirtiest sex I’ve ever written and that’s saying something. It might also be wildly OOC too, but I couldn’t help myself, this is angst town and this is where we are living. I think I’m done with possessive sex for a while now. 
> 
> There is also no resolution here, it’s angst all the way. I’ve toyed with the idea of a second chapter, but I’ll be real with you it’s highly highly unlikely given how difficult this was to write. 
> 
> Title is from another Maren Morris song, but the song has nothing to do with with the story, but I did listen to “The Bones” about a gazillion more times while writing this.

“Well I think that was a successful Sunday.” Elizabeth falls onto the couch next to Henry after tossing a stuffed animal in the vague direction of the toy box. “The house is a disaster, but the kids had fun, Ali tried the asparagus you made,” she wrinkles her nose, “and we even got Stevie to play a game with us.”

Henry smiles but doesn’t open his eyes or move his head from the back of the couch. “I noticed you didn’t try that asparagus,” he can feel her querulous look but he ignores it, it’s best not to bring up her distaste for the vegetable. “Apparently the prospect of beating her siblings at Uno and not having to do barn chores for a week was alluring enough to overcome teenage distaste of family.”

Elizabeth curls up next to him, placing her head on his chest. “I don’t think she sniped at me once, that must be a new record.”

Henry wraps his arm around her. “Teenage girls and their mothers, you know how it is.” She stiffens and he immediately regrets saying it, he opens his eyes ready to apologize, but it’s an old hurt so she relaxes back against him after a second.

“I guess, but I don’t think I expected her to scream that she hates me so much.” Her voice is light but he knows the pain is still there so he drops a kiss on top of her head.

“She’ll grow out of it. She still comes to you for advice all the time, so she must not hate you too much.”

She laughs. “Yeah, she keeps asking me how to know if a boy likes you, I don’t know how to tell her that I found you at nineteen entirely by accident and that my dating history before that was pretty checkered.”

“Well there you go, just tell her to wait until she’s nineteen.”

Elizabeth pulls back so he can see her roll her eyes. “I don’t think she’s going to wait four more years to date. She’s been talking about this Mike guy in her class, he seems like a creep, we should keep an eye on him.” Henry starts to make a face so she rushes on. “Hey you know who she was talking about today? Harrison. I haven’t heard her mention him in forever.”

“He’s three years older than her!” He says indignantly. “And is completely wrong for her.”

Elizabeth smiles and pats his arm. “Relax, she wasn’t talking about dating him, I don’t think they see each other like that, she was just saying she’d like to visit him. We haven’t seen them all in forever, maybe we could all get together this summer.” Elizabeth stands up and starts clearing some of the debris on the coffee table. When Henry doesn’t respond she turns toward him questioningly “What do you think? We could get a house on the shore like we used to? We’ve barely seen Conrad and Lydia since we moved away from DC.”

Henry shifts restlessly. “Hmm. Maybe. Isn’t Conrad busy with,” he gestures wildly, “everything?”

Elizabeth scrunches up her face. “Probably, but we could ask. It would be nice to connect with them again. Harrison and Stevie used to be close.” She sweeps crumbs into her hands and throws them into the trash can. She lets out a laugh. “I never would have pegged Conrad for politics. That was always his least favorite part of the job. But then again, I never thought he’d leave the Company either.” She tosses a smile back at Henry as she stacks glasses. “I bet he would’ve said the same about me too though, remember what he said to me when I told him I was leaving?” She pauses, clearly waiting for a reply, but Henry is caught up in his own unruly thoughts, so she continues. “That he thought I’d have his job some day. Ha,” she snorts, “as if. I never could’ve played the politics required. Can you imagine me trying to play nice with the brass?” She sits back on the couch with a sigh and arches her eyebrows. “Well?”

“I’m sure you would have charmed and bamboozled them until they did exactly what you wanted.” He smiles in what he hopes in a disarming way, he wants to move on from this conversation. “I’ve always said you were meant for great things.”

Her mouth twists. “Well if by great you mean somehow grading 45 ten page essays on the Cold War before Wednesday, then yes, I am meant for great things.” 

He cups her face and sweeps his thumb across her cheek. “That is exactly what I mean. I have absolute confidence you will complete your task. Your greatness knows no bounds.” His tone is half-joking, half-serious.

She rolls her eyes at him but then looks thoughtful. “You know Conrad said something similar to me that night that I turned down Baghdad, he said I was meant for great things and that my story didn’t end here. Maybe I should….” She stops when his hand jerks away and he stands up. “Henry?”

He picks up the stack of cups and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Stevie does know that she still has to do her regular chores right?” His voice is infused with deliberate lightness.

Elizabeth follows him and watches closely as he sets the dishes down. “Henry is everything alright?”

He turns back and smiles. “Of course, you know I don’t really like talking about that time.” He adds, “Or Conrad,” after a pause. He shouldn’t say it, he knows that, shouldn’t make the wound bleed again. He’s usually better at changing the subject when this comes up, he must be more tired than he realizes. 

Her head cocks. “Right. But we’re past all of that.” She draws each of the words out, as if she knows she is missing something. His wife has always been far too intuitive.

“Right. I forgave you a long time ago. We should go to bed, six am comes early, and Ali has dance class after school.”

She freezes and holds a hand out to prevent him from leaving. “You forgave me?” 

He sighs. “Elizabeth, this is done and past, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“I feel like I’m missing something. Which is odd considering I thought we had talked about every aspect of this issue.” Her voice is dangerously pleasant and he knows they’re entering territory best left unexplored. He can’t believe she is making him spell this out. They’ve existed in this state of balance for five years, it doesn’t need to change. He knows and she knows that he knows, they don’t need anything more than that. 

“We have. So lets leave the past in the past.” He brushes past her and heads to the bedroom. He takes off his watch and sets it down on the dresser. When he turns around Elizabeth is standing inside the doorway watching him. 

“I want you to tell me what exactly it is that you forgave me for.” He remains silent. “Okay, I know you were mad when I walked out, but it wasn’t like I disappeared, I told you I needed time and that I was staying at a friend’s house for a few days.” 

“Drop it Elizabeth.” His own tempter is sparking. He sides behind her and shuts the door, it takes every inch of his control to keep from slamming it. He walks back around and sits on the edge of the bed. If she’s determined to have this conversation then he might as well be comfortable. 

“So I went to Conrad’s and then I...” He scoffs and she stops. She seems to be coming to a realization and she tilts her head in disbelief. “You don’t like that I went to Conrad’s? For God’s sake, I love Juliet and Isabelle, but they’re judgmental as hell and crap at relationship advice. Conrad was the next best choice, you can’t blame him for offering me what he saw as a promotion.” 

“I can most certainly blame him, you told him you wanted a desk job, that you were done with overseas assignments, that you wanted to stay close to your family, and then along he comes and dangles an impossible to turn down position in one of the most dangerous places in the world. Plus he should have sent you home that night.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I told you back then Lydia and Harrison were away so he let me stay and drink my sorrows away, let me figure things out on my own. You should be thankful I went to him, Isabelle would have told me to take the job and leave you. Juliet would have hemmed and hawed about it but she would have basically given me the same advice.”

His control snaps and he stands up and starts pacing. “I should be thankful?” He says in disbelief. “I should be thankful?” Elizabeth is frozen. “I should be fucking thankful?” She startles but he’s beyond noticing. “Why exactly should I be thankful that he took my wife in during a vulnerable moment and took advantage of the situation?” Her mouth drops open and she starts to try and say something. “Should I be thankful that instead of sending her home he fucked her?” 

She physically recoils when he says fucked. The word is harsh and guttural in his mouth made all the worse because he so rarely uses it. Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly. He stands still panting in exertion. 

“I...” She makes sounds but no words come out. “You’ve never trusted me have you?” She laughs but there’s no humor in it. “What the hell are we doing if you don’t trust me?”

She turns, opens the door and walks out of the bedroom. He stares after her, tempted to follow, but frozen by his own emotions. He notices that she didn’t deny the accusation.

.................…………………………………………...

A few days later Henry exits his car and grimaces. Late spring in Virginia holds only the promise of the humidity later months bring, but he still curses the thicker sweater he put on this morning. He pulls it over his head and tosses it on the seat before slamming the door shut. He eyes the trio of men standing just outside the radius of the buzzing street light and hits the button on his key fob twice, then once again for good measure. He takes a deep breath, taking in the smell of cigarettes and exhaust. He takes a step and jumps when his boot sends a shard of glass skittering across the cracked pavement. He squeezes his hands and sends up a quick prayer for guidance and peace, he’s going to need both. He makes his way through a maze of motorcycles and busted up cars. He grimaces when he sees Elizabeth’s Jeep, he didn’t quite believe it when her TA has told him this was where she was, but the faded UVA sticker on the back of the SUV offers undeniable proof. He eyes the building as he stands a few feet back, trying to get a sense of what the atmosphere is like inside, what might have drawn Elizabeth here. The only windows are small and set high on the wall and the thick metal door covered in faded signs doesn’t let any sound out, so he has to draw his own conclusions. He imagines that it being far off the beaten path for the normal college crowd was a selling point. 

He opens the door and steps inside. Dim lighting and a general haze make taking in the details difficult, but as he scans the room Elizabeth stands out like a beacon, she always has for him. She sits, slumped over the bar, her hair mostly cascading down her back in a riotous mess, a few pieces clinging to the remains of a bun. When she turns to signal the bartender he sees that she has taken advantage of only having office hours today. She’s wearing torn up jeans and scuffed boots. Her flannel button up is undone revealing a black camisole. He takes a few steps forward, grimacing as his shoes stick to the floor. 

He stops, frozen once again by the enormity of the situation, by his absolute inability to handle it. He aches for her in more ways than one, they’ve barely spoken in five days and it feels like a century. She’s been sleeping in the guest bedroom refusing to interact with him except on essential matters. He moves forward a few more steps, drawn in like a moth to the flame. The analogy is apt because he’s more than likely to get burned in this interaction. He pauses when she picks up the shot the bartender sits in front of her and throws it back. Her skin is glistening with a slight sheen of sweat and as his eyes trace the path of the liquid he realizes how much skin she has on display. The tank ends low enough it reveals the lacy edge of her bra along with a generous portion of cleavage. She licks her lips, and he wants to take her mouth in a kiss and taste whatever terrible alcohol it is she just downed. He almost does, but she locks eyes with him as she slams the glass back onto the bar, and her look is anything but welcoming. Her eye makeup is smeared and he wonders if she’s been crying. She turns away and signals the bartender again, tapping her glass. He must make some kind of noise, because she glares at him from the corner of her eye. He stands there for a long moment, his muscles tense, waiting for a sign from her, anything that would indicate she wants him here. It doesn’t come. 

He sighs and slides onto the stool next to her. The bartender puts another glass down in front of her and Henry arches his eyebrows, “Is that really a good idea?” And that was absolutely not the right thing to start with. The look she throws him could freeze over hell. Maybe he won’t burn, but freeze instead.

She finishes the drink and passes the glass to the bartender, “I’ll switch to beer now, thanks.” He almost comments about her mixing beer and liquor, but wisely bites his tongue. They sit in silence for a few minutes. 

“This guy bothering you?” asks the man as he reappears and hands her a bottle. Henry wants to roll his eyes, of all the men in here, does he really look like the type to harass a woman. 

Elizabeth side eyes Henry and lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yes, but I can handle it.” The other man nods and walks away. 

“Come here often?” Henry asks.

She slowly sips, “Only when my husband tells me how much he doesn’t trust me after I gave up everything for him.”

Apparently they are continuing this argument right where they left off five days ago. There are so many parts of her statement he wants to dispute. “Everything?” Is all he comes out with.

She shakes her head. “You know what I mean, the career I spent almost twenty years building.” They’ve had and settled this argument before so he moves on, he knows her true thoughts on this, she’s just playing with the scar because she’s pissed off about something else. 

“I didn’t say I don’t trust you.” 

She turns to face him fully now. “Oh right, I forgot, you just said you had forgiven me for something you assumed I had done five years ago. Something I never did, something I would never do, something you never even asked me about.”

His temper flares, warring with his desire to resolve this. “Because I didn’t want to know the damn answer okay, I couldn’t bear to hear you say it even if I understood it.”

Her face is stony. “So you just assumed I had slept with another man, my boss, my mentor, someone who I see as more of a father-figure than anything else. Another man who was married. You fucking assumed I left you and immediately jumped into bed with someone else and then just came back to you like nothing was wrong? What kind of person do you think I am?” Icy rage fills her words, her muscles rigid, ready for a fight. 

“You didn’t come back like nothing was wrong!” He shouts, but the way some of the patrons look at them has him lowering his voice. “You said you had made a mistake, but that you were sorry and you wanted to fix us.”

“The mistake was leaving in the middle of an argument. The mistake was not listening to you. The mistake was running away for three days. The mistake was not fucking someone else. I did not sleep with Conrad or anyone else for that matter.”

Her pulse is beating wildly at her throat and he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the anger, but her skin is flushed. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

She smirks. “Well too bad, there’s two people in this marriage, and I do want to fight about it.”

She takes a swig from the bottle and he yanks it out of her hands. She looks startled. “I told you, I don’t like talking about that time. I told you I forgave you and that’s enough.”

She snarls and yanks the beer back from him. “You forgave me, isn’t that so saintly of you. You forgave me for something I never did!” 

He doesn’t want this fight. He doesn’t want this discussion. He knows it isn’t fair, but studying religion has taught him that some things are better left unknown, unexplored. 

When he doesn’t say anything, she scoffs and takes a swig from the bottle. “You still don’t believe me.”

He does, mostly. He wants to so badly that he feels it’s clouding his judgment. Her relationship with Conrad has always been intense. He’s also seen the looks Conrad gives her when she’s not looking, there’s nothing fatherly about them. Her actions after leaving the Company only confirmed every suspicion he ever had. They went from vacationing with Conrad’s family and seeing them every other weekend for barbecues to abruptly only exchanging Christmas cards. It reeked of guilt. He chose to forgive her and move on, she stayed for him, she quit her job for him, she loved him, that was all that mattered. The silence has stretched too long and she looks ready to give up, so he stumbles over his words. “It’s not that I don’t believe you...” he trails off when her face falls.

“But you don’t.” She looks less mad and more sad and he hates it but doesn’t know how to fix it, not without lying to her. He does believe her, really mostly, but he has sat with this hurt for so long it has worn a furrow in his brain. He’s figured out how to live with it, how to compartmentalize and compensate; like a bad leg he’s gotten so used to adjusting for it’s second nature. So, when it collapsed underneath him, it stung like renewed betrayal. Maybe he’s always been jealous of her relationship with Conrad, maybe he’s always felt like he’s come in second to her job, maybe their marriage has never been perfect, but dammit he had learned to cope with that. 

She sits there picking at the label on her bottle. “Who’s with the kids?” He asks, desperately, seeking a connection.

She squints her eyes questioning his motives when she knows he already knows the answer, “Jane had them until 10 and then Stevie will keep an ear out, she’s 15, she can handle it.”

He hums in approval. He drums his fingers on the bar. “You should go,” she finally says. 

He doesn’t want that at all. “I’m going to go, to the bathroom. I might not survive, I’m sure they’re hazardous.”

A smile almost quirks at the corner of her lips. He reaches out to touch her, but stops himself at the last moment. She gives him a pained look. He takes his time in the bathroom, washing his hands thoroughly in the leaking sink. He doesn’t know how to get through this with her.

When he steps back into the bar, he feels anger pulse through his body at the sight in front of him. This anger is clean, purposeful, uncomplicated, he yields to it. A guy who barely looks old enough to drink and is wearing far too much leather has his arm around Elizabeth and his mouth to her ear. He stalks over, thinks about grabbing the guy, but settles for letting his rage fuel his voice, “Time to scram buddy, the lady isn’t interested.”

The guy turns and gives him a cocky grin, “But the lady doesn’t want me to scram, she seems interested.”

Elizabeth doesn’t say anything, she’s staring off into the distance. The guy tugs her closer, Henry growls. The guy squeezes her shoulder. Elizabeth side-eyes him but remains silent. Henry feels his control slipping it’s already been too taxed today. “The lady is married.” The other guy shrugs. “To me,” Henry continues. 

“Why should that matter? Looks like you don’t know how to keep a hot blonde, your loss.” Henry’s vision starts to go red. He’s not even sure who he’s angry with, this presumptuous asshole, Elizabeth, or himself. The guy meets his eyes in a challenge and the hand that was on her shoulder starts to move down. The next actions happen so fast he only sorts them out afterward. The other guy’s hand skims the skin underneath the edge of her camisole. Elizabeth recoils, Henry grabs the guy by his shoulder pulling him away from her and then swings, his fist connecting with a crunch that probably means a broken nose. 

“Son of a bitch,” the guy grabs his face and staggers. He pops back up and tries to go after Henry, but Henry dodges, uses the other guy’s momentum to grab his wrist and swing him around so he has him in a hold with the hand behind his back. The bartender is suddenly there, and goes to break them apart. 

Henry lets the other guy go and shoves him in the direction of the door, “No worries, this guy was just leaving, hopefully he’s learned his lesson about assaulting married women while their husband watches.” The bartender throws his hands up in surrender. 

The guy he just had in an arm lock glares at him and spits blood onto the floor, “It would have been a pity fuck anyways, clearly she isn’t getting any from you.” Henry thinks about retorting about how that makes no sense given he’s the one who just wiped the floor with the wannabe Casanova, but he holds his tongue and lets the man leave unscathed. 

His adrenaline still pumping he turns back to Elizabeth. She hasn’t moved, her pupils are blown wide and her breathing is heavy. He goes back to her, stands close enough that she can feel his own pants. She looks up and meets his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell that guy to leave?” It’s a question and an accusation all in one.

Her eyes shutter and she turns away to grab her bottle and take a drink. “Well you already think I’m some kind of cheating slut.” Her tone is hard to place, wavering and challenging in the same breath. He can’t take it anymore, he yanks her back to face him, he dimly hears the bottle clang as it falls, and takes her mouth in a bruising kiss. She gasps into his mouth and then melts. His teeth scrape across her lips, showing no mercy. He pulls her up without breaking the kiss so he can feel her body against his. She moans and her hand fists in his hair. He palms the back of her head, his fingers destroying the last of her bun as his tongues thrusts into her mouth. He pushes his hips against hers and she responds in kind. This is far too much for a public place, he knows that, but it still takes every iota of strength for him to pull back. She lets out a little whimper at their parting and he almost ceases to care about the audience. “Let’s go home,” he pants.

She shakes her head. “No.” He can see in her eyes that she is worried this spell will end, that the mediocrity of driving to their house, seeing their kids, brushing their teeth, will douse the flames and remind them of what’s broken in their marriage. 

“Well the bathrooms here are disgusting.”

Her eyes are wild. “There’s a hotel across the road.” He doesn’t remember seeing one, but her observational skills are exceptional so he doesn’t doubt it. He holds her gaze as he reaches into his pocket, picks a few bills out and throws them on the bar. 

He yanks her up and pulls her out the door, barely giving her time to grab her purse. They don’t speak as he pays for the room. The night clerk barely meets his eyes, takes the cash and pushes a room key across the cracked Formica counter. 

Elizabeth finally breaks the silence as they walk back through the heavy night air to get to the room. “This isn’t a healthy way of coping.”

“Drinking alone in a seedy bar isn’t exactly the healthiest coping skill either. I don’t care anymore what’s healthy.” He knows she’s right, that they probably shouldn’t be doing this, they’re adults, professors, parents, respectable people, not the sort of people who get a room that probably rents by the hour at what is definitely not a hotel and barely qualifies as a motel. He can’t care about that right now though, not when his blood is on fire.

He fits the key into the lock, and just barely manages to wait until they are both inside until he shoves her back up against the door. She gasps in surprise, and maybe pain, but that’s another thing he’s stopped caring about. His mouth is on hers again and she gives as good as she gets, their teeth click together as he does his best to devour her. He needs her naked, immediately. He rips at the shirt, pushing it down her shoulders. He moves his mouth to her neck, nipping and sucking in a way he knows she likes but rarely allows. His hand scrambles at her camisole and growls when it impedes his progress. His hand scoops down from the top, underneath her bra and squeezes her breast before pinching at the nipple. Her head hits the door with a bang as she whimpers. His nerves burn, he hasn’t felt this way in a very long time, he doesn’t usually let feelings of possession and dominance intrude on their lovemaking, but right now he needs to see her fall apart at his bidding like he needs to breathe.

He steps back just enough to yank the camisole over her head, ripping it in the process. Before he can cause irreparable damage to more of her clothing she efficiently reaches back, unclips her bra and tosses it to the side. His mouth is immediately on her, teeth and tongue torturing her breasts. “Oh god, don’t stop.” Her hand buries itself in his hair as she arches into his assault. He brings a hand up to her other breast and she must look down, because she gasps and pushes him away. “Henry, your hand, it’s swollen and bleeding, you need ice.” 

He flicks his eyes down, the knuckles are only cracked, the blood already dried. At another time he’d be charmed by her concern but right now the pulsing inside him needs to be assuaged. “No, what I need right now is to make you come.” She sucks in air and his hand is flicking open the button on her jeans and snaking it’s way down, palming her where she is already wet. He pushes a single finger against her opening, the angle all wrong, but she lets out a little scream all the same. She’s tight and wet and warm and everything he wants. He pulses his finger in and out in shallow little thrusts. She bucks up against him, he moves his finger back up and scrapes his nail across her clit. She screeches, so he does it again. 

“Are you going to come for me? With your pants still on?” She lets out a sound that isn’t an answer, but has blood flowing to his cock. His fingers continue to tease her, moving back and forth in unpredictable patterns until she is grinding against his hand.

He stops. “You didn’t answer me.” When he continues to not move she opens her eyes and gives him a pleading look. He moves his fingers slightly, just the smallest movement, but her eyes slam shut again and a long “ohhhhhhhh,” falls from her mouth. 

“Open your eyes,” he demands. It looks like it takes great effort but her eyelids move upward. He begins playing with her again. “I asked you a question. Are you going to come for me?” She nods her head wildly. “Who are you going to come for?” He increases his pace but then pauses. He arches his eyebrows.

“You,” it’s mostly a moan but she holds his gaze so he rewards her by massaging her clit with firm strokes. “Oh fuck, oh god, only you Henry, only ever you.” She breaks after that, a hoarse scream falling from her mouth as her hips buck wildly against him. He has an errant thought that everybody in the building can probably hear what’s going on, but fuck if that doesn’t just make him want to make her scream louder.

She whimpers a little bit as he continues to play with her, but she is rotating her hips against him. Her eyes are shut now but when he pulls his hand back they open, hazy with desire. He tugs at her pants, urging them down. She complies, pushing everything down her legs, kicking her boots off before doing the same with the rest of her clothes. 

He knows his gaze is predatory as he rakes it down her body. When she meets his eyes he sees that she looks just as hungry. Before he can say anything else she drops to her knees and undoes his belt. She shoves his pants and boxers down in one fell swoop and then makes sure he is watching her as she bites and then sucks at the skin on the crease of his thigh. He groans. That’s going to bruise, but he gets the message. She traces a path with her teeth to the edge of his erection. He sucks in a breath, but she pulls back. Her voice is husky when she says “Yours is the only cock I want in my mouth,” then her mouth is engulfing him, her tongue doing truly sinful things. He screams. One of his hands falls to her head in a desperate attempt to maintain his balance. She moans around him and he almost comes right there. He needs to stop her, but it feels too damn good.

She tosses her hair back, knocking his hand away, and then holds his eyes as she takes him in all the way to her throat. “Oh fuck,” he whimpers. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to remain standing. She moves her mouth up until only her lips are around the tip. She lashes him with her tongue and then sinks back down, starting up a fast rhythm. He can’t help himself and goes back to tangling a hand in her hair. She brings a hand up to stroke his balls, hitting a spot at the base that has him tightening his grip. Instead of protesting, her pace grows more frantic and she moans around him. That’s all he can take. He pulls away violently. She is at his feet, her chest heaving, her lips shiny. As he watches she licks her lips, almost in challenge. He responds, he toes off his shoes, tears his shirt over his head, and kicks his clothes to the side. 

He grabs her hand and yanks her up. Even in the muted light filtering in through the dingy curtains her body is a vision. “You’re enough to tempt even a saint to eternal damnation.”

“And you’re no saint,” she says archly. She grabs the back of his head and brings their mouths back together. They fall back as he licks into her mouth. Her skin is fire, sliding across his with the heat of a thousand suns, it’s a wonder he doesn’t go up in flames like so many of his blessed saints. He embraces the heat and falls deeper into her. Sometimes he thinks that even if he were tied to stake, a blaze licking at his feet, he wouldn’t be able to deny this woman.

He jerks away and with a smooth movement he turns her around and uses a hand on her back to shove her into the door. She gasps, but then he’s crowding in behind her, he lines himself up and thrusts into her with a single smooth motion. “Oh god yes” she cries. It’s more of a wail then words, but he understands nonetheless.

He pulls out and then slams back in. She jolts and if it wasn’t for the solid surface in front of her he’s pretty sure she would be on the floor. He is relentless, setting a pace that he’d normally have to work up to, fueled by a tangled mass of cacophonous emotions. He nips at the skin on the base of her neck and notes with satisfaction the mark he leaves behind, it’s not the first and it likely won’t be the last. His hands are on her hips, digging in as he uses the leverage to get every millimeter of depth. 

“You will not give up on us Elizabeth, on me,” he pants into her ear, putting as much intensity into those words as he can. It must do something to her because she shudders around him. “I love you and I don’t care about anything else.” 

She is all whimpers and half-formed words after that and he knows she’s a hairsbreadth away from coming, can feel it in the way every muscle in her body has tightened to a peak. He pauses, his hips cocked forward, puts his mouth next to her ear again. “Say my name when you come, remember it’s only me that can do this to you.”

And then she is falling apart, contracting in waves that set his body alight. His name falls from her mouth again and again, a benediction that has ecstasy flowing through him. Two more thrusts and he erupts, her name a whispered beatitude on his lips.

Somehow he manages to guide them over to the bed, ripping off the coverlet, before they collapse. She curls into his chest and he holds her close, clinging to this sanctuary as long as he can. Their breaths slowly even as he sweeps his hand up and down her back. She pushes into him, and he thinks, for a moment, that maybe this was exactly the coping skill they needed, a reminder of everything they are. Sex has never been a minor part of their relationship.

“I love you,” she says. It’s barely audible, but he hears it and his brain is flooded with dopamine. 

“You are the love of my life Elizabeth. Always and forever.” They go silent, basking in the afterglow.

“Here we are in a cheap motel like we’re the ones having an affair.” As an attempt at humor it falls flat and it has her pushing away from him, sitting up.

“I’ve never had an affair Henry.”

“I..it was…I didn’t..” his words won’t line up, thrown by the whiplash.

She gathers the sheets around herself. “Let me be perfectly clear, while we’ve been married I have never slept with anyone else, I have never even seriously thought about having sex with anybody else.”

He sits up, his shoulders slumped. “I know. I’m sorry.” He means it to be sincere, but she must sense his doubt, because she scoots even further away from him.

“Go home Henry, leave me alone.” She won’t meet his eyes.

“But how will you get home?” He knows she’s not drunk, but she still shouldn’t be driving with the amount of alcohol she’s had.

She shrugs, continuing to stare at the wall. “You paid for the night, I’ll sleep for an hour and then be good to drive.”

He reaches towards her helplessly, but his hand falls just short of her, weighed down by his failures.

He gathers his things and gets dressed silently. He opens the door and steps through. He turns and starts to say something, but stops, her huddled form on the bed breaking his resolve and instead he closes the door softly behind him. He hopes he didn’t also just close the last door to their marriage.


End file.
